by J. C. Owens
Their breathing and hurried steps echoed in the tunnel, and he prayed that the pursuers could not hear them over their own sounds of passage. He had kept the knife, and taken the guard’s gun, but they would not be able to hold out for long against superior numbers, even with the added advantage of the narrow tunnels.
The tunnel began to slope upwards, and his hope rose. This seemed familiar and it was drier here, the air softer and less humid. They could finally breathe more easily.
There was a sudden sharp bend, and then, a door, iron bound, green with moss. He did not hesitate, but reached for the thick latch and pulled it up. It took effort to push it open, the metal edge long since rusted and swollen. He threw his shoulder into it and it finally groaned open, the sound loud and echoing in the tunnel.
Aidan glanced back, biting his lip, expecting to see light behind them, a rush of bodies as their pursuers closed in.
There was nothing. Perhaps they were further back than either of them had expected.
Torin stepped out, pulling Aidan after him. It took both of them to close the door. Torin straightened and looked around, heaving a huge sigh of relief. They were exactly where he had hoped. Outside the fortress wall and down by the river, well shielded from any watchers. Darkness aided them, a darkness that seemed nothing next to what they had come from.
He grinned at Aidan, getting a weak smile in return.
“Now, we run.”
* * *
Aidan gasped for breath, bent over, leaning against the tree for support. His head swam and his muscles ached. He felt a small degree of resentment at the fact that Torin was hardly winded. He looked ready for a another mile or so without effort.
He fought back the thought. He had to find more strength. He could not be the one to hold them back, to increase their chances of being caught.
The mere thought of being recaptured gave him grim determination. He would rather die than fall in Heratis’s hands once more. There would be no mercy there, and having had a taste of how he could be used against his own people, death seemed a viable option.
He was so tired of being used, so tired of stumbling through his life with no knowledge, no concept of who he was.
He looked up at Torin, searching for hope.
The general might find a place for him, might see enough worth in his skills that he would accept him into his forces. If he could just show him he could be more than a pawn.
He straightened, gritting his teeth. He could damn well do this.
They broke into a run once more, a steady pace neither fast nor slow. Aidan was sure that Torin could have gone at least twice as swiftly, and that chafed at his pride, but he knew that he would fade quickly if he attempted more than he was. Hold to this pace and hope he could make it as far as Torin deemed safe.
They passed over the lip of a ridge, and there Torin signaled a halt, as he viewed their surroundings from this higher vantage point. Aidan fell to his knees thankfully, his rasping breaths loud, steam rising in the brisk morning cold.
Thankfully there was little snow here, but Aidan felt the chill against his sweat soaked skin, his light damp clothing little barrier. If they stopped completely, he would not last long against the cold.
He closed his eyes and focused on getting enough air. They had to live through the now, much less the future.
Torin reached down and hauled him to his feet. “There is a farm just down the slope. We will take horses from there and head south, try to intercept my army.”
Aidan nodded weakly, and tried to get his legs to cooperate as they headed down the steep slope.
“They will give you the horses?” he questioned with a wheeze.
“I cannot trust that these people would be sympathetic to us. They are too close to the fortress. For their own safety, they might turn us in. We will take the horses and give them back in the future.”
They made it down the slope, and then Torin left him there, huddled against the leeward side of tree, away from the wind.
The general slipped away into the mists that were rising with the coming of the day. The sun was only a faint glow on the horizon, and Aidan desperately wished for its warmth.
He blew on his hands, then tucked them under his armpits, curling in on himself to provide even a modicum of heat. He waited and watched. If Torin did not return, he would not survive, that he knew. It would be kinder to stay here and freeze to death, than expose himself to the enemy.
His morose thoughts were interrupted by the sound of something coming through the underbrush, and he froze in place, fingers digging into his body, staring into the half light as his heart pounded unevenly.
When he could finally distinguish Torin astride a horse, leading another, he could finally breathe again, body trembling with reaction and cold.
“Here.” Torin threw him something, and he almost cried with relief when he saw it was a heavy horse blanket. He pulled it around his shoulders with shaking hands, little caring if it was clean or not.
Torin grasped him around the waist and lifted him onto the second horse. Aidan did not even protest, his pride coming a very distant second to necessity. At this moment, he was too weak to do it himself.
The general took the reins of Aidan’s horse and they headed off to the south. Aidan huddled into the blanket, content to let his companion take over completely. The heat of the broad back beneath him warmed his frozen legs and drifted up inside the blanket. He shivered violently as his body finally began to warm, and he tucked his face inside, unwilling to expose any part of him to the chill wind.
One hand was wrapped tightly around the mane of his new mount, ensuring that if something happened he would be able to stay on. Beyond that, he left himself in Torin’s control once more.
The solid heavy gait of the horse and its tremendously broad back, pointed to it being a draft horse of some sort, and he felt guilty at having stolen something so very important to a farm family. He could only hope they would be returned swiftly, once they found their way to safety.
The sun had risen and was finally showing past the tops of the tall trees, lighting the way, and making Aidan feel even warmer. He poked his head out at last, glancing over at Torin.
“Are you not cold, my lord?” At least his teeth had stopped chattering enough to speak again.
Torin looked over at him, an amused smile tilting his lips. “You are about to offer that blanket, and I will say no. You are half frozen through as it is. I have never minded the cold. We often train in colder areas, to harden up the men. This is quite a pleasant day to me.”
Aidan’s eyebrows rose in patent disbelief, but he could see that Torin showed no signs of being chilled what so ever.
“I will become hardier, I am sure, over time. If you let me train.” He stared anxiously at the general.
Torin eyed him for a long moment, then the smile widened. “You will find a place with us, young man. Of that I am sure. I will see to it.”
A great knot of tension released within Aidan, something he had hardly known he carried. To be part of something, to be wanted, perhaps even needed. It was all he dreamed of. And to train with those who followed Torin… It seemed a amazingly large gift. He would have to prove himself, of course. It was not likely that the men would suddenly have a change of heart, even if Torin himself gave orders to the contrary, but there was hope that they might come to see him as one of their own.
It was a path that he had never hoped for, never envisioned. So much more than he had been raised to be.
He pulled the blanket a little closer, and smiled at the sun.
* * *
Torin kept to the trees, off the roads and paths that crisscrossed the landscape. The daylight was pleasant, but they were too visible, too exposed for his taste. The two horses definitely sped up their pace, but if they were chased, the great beasts would be too slow for escape.
He glanced at Aidan, pleased to see the boy seemed more alert, less exhausted. If they had to flee on foot, he at least woul
d be able to hold up for a short time. The lad’s determination and fortitude were very evident, and Torin could not imagine many of his own recruits responding as well as this young man had.
He would keep his word. There would be a place for Aidan in the ranks. He just could not quite imagine where. The need he felt to protect the younger man urged him to keep him close, and the thought of setting him amongst the rough army men, alone and unprotected, did not sit easily with him. He would have to find something else, something safe.
Paulsten would help. He had a good head on his shoulders, and was of a more practical turn of mind than Torin himself.
He was counting on that practicality at the moment. He was heading southwest, hoping that he knew his friend well enough to gauge his actions, once it had been discovered that their general was missing. With a bit of luck, they might be able to find the army’s present location.
But they had to get there first, and he chafed at the enforced slow and steady pace. It would not do to tire the horses, but he wished desperately for his own mounts. His warhorses would not have been any faster, but his finer horses, his beloved Lutafians, they could have run for hours and never broken a sweat.
So few of them left now, the national breed of Ceratas, killed in the invasion, in the resulting battles, or butchered because the invaders knew how much they were valued.
He gritted his teeth. Now they struggled to keep the few breeding stock safe. One day, he hoped, there would be peace and the sight of the golden horses grazing placidly in many a field.
One day.
They kept moving until nightfall, and then Torin found another farm. He left Aidan and the grazing horses far enough back to keep them well hidden, and then he approached with caution, stopping every few feet to watch and listen.
He prayed that there might be something in the barn to feed Aidan and himself. It had been too long since they last ate, and they must keep their strength up for what was to come.
He slipped into the warmth of the barn. Several horses watched him, chewing hay, snorting a little at his presence, then quieting.
A sharp prick at his neck made him freeze. From the corner of his eye, he could see a pitchfork wielded by large, steady hands.
“You put those hands where I can see them.” The voice held a midcountry accent, definitely Ceratasian. But that was not necessarily a boon. These people would only see the uniform and think him one of the invaders.
As if in answer to that thought, the pitchfork pressed harder against his flesh, enough to sting. “What are you doing in my barn? If you think you lot can just show up and take my animals, you have another thing…”
The man kept the pitchfork steady, moving his body around so that he could see Torin’s face in the faint light of the single lantern that hung by the door.
For his part, Torin held his hands loose and at his sides, fingers spread, trying to look as harmless as he was capable of. Of all the cursed luck…
The man, older and careworn, squinted at him for a long moment, then his eyes widened, and he stepped back abruptly, pulling the pitchfork back, a flush rising over his cheekbones.
“My lord. I thought you were one of them. I did not realize… My apologies.” He bowed.
Torin blinked, astonished. He had not been in this area since the invasion. How was it then that this man recognized him?
As if feeling the confusion, the farmer straightened, a smile making the lines of his face form into something very pleasant and warm.
“My eldest son, he left us to join you, not two years past. There are those who seek to join you, many who pass around your image, keeping hope alive. I am honored, my lord, to have you here, and I hope my boy is accounting himself well in your ranks.” His smile fell away. “I had heard you were taken, my lord, captured by the bastards at the fortress. Everyone has been talking of it.”
Torin drew in a shuddering breath, adrenalin seeping away to leave him exhausted.
“I apologize for my stealthy manner, and my trespass into your barn. My companion and I escaped a short time ago, and are trying to make it back to the army, but we are exhausted and hungry. I had hoped to find something…”
“My wife would never let me live it down if we did not see to you, General. You are one of our own, our leader now. We will give you anything and everything. You need only ask and it shall be yours.”
Torin managed a wan smile. “My companion—I must go back and find him, bring him here. He is guarding the horses.” He felt a faint flush rise. “The horses—we ‘borrowed’ them from a farm to the northeast. They need to be returned…”
The man grinned, setting the handle of the pitchfork on the floor. “We shall see to it, my lord. Don’t worry, in times to come, they will boast of General Torin riding their horses. Just wait and see.”
“I hope so. I had never counted on stealing from my own people.”
The man patted him on the arm, then grimaced at the uniform. “If you don’t mind my saying, sir, it is not safe for you to be wearing that. The invaders are right hated in this area, and some folk would not take the time to indentify you first. I will find you some other clothes.”
“I would be most grateful,” Torin responded. “I will fetch my companion then, and return.” He hesitated. “If pursuers should find us, it will not go well for you or your family. If we could just move on, perhaps with fresh horses…”
“I will not hear of it. We will feed you and harness the horses to our wagon. With lots of hay in the back you can sleep while one of my boys drives you to Whileton. It should take about three days, but you will be back with your men.”
Torin felt a grin break free. “Truly? The army is that close?”
The farmer nodded. “Has the invaders right riled up. They will be searching for you desperately, knowing that if you get back to your army, they won’t get you back.” He thumped the pitchfork, the smile widening. “Damn, I feel like a kid again, wanting adventure. I might just go with you and my boy… You go get that companion of yours, I will get food ready, and the wagon will be waiting. We will get you on your way.”
Torin held out his hand. “You are a good man. I won’t forget this.”
The farmer stared at his hand in disbelief, then reached out hesitantly with gnarled fingers to grasp it.
“It’s an honor, General. Get on now with you. Come back swiftly.”
Torin nodded, then turned to go back to Aidan, his steps suddenly lighter, as though a great burden had been lifted. He sent a prayer of thanks to the gods, then broke into a jog as he reached the trees.
* * *
Aidan followed behind Torin, eyes wide, his fingers clenching upon the reins of the horse he led. He could not believe in such good fortune, and he fully expected Heratis’s troops to burst from the trees, showing it to be a trap.
He had no belief in kindness, no experience of compassion from others. Torin was the closest he had come to trust, and even there, he had no expectation of Torin’s favor continuing. Once they had escaped, once the general was back with his people, he would forget all about Aidan, for in the end, he had no hold on the general and his good will. He had been a burden from the beginning, and although Torin had stated he would find him a place, he had difficulty truly believing such a thing.
More likely he would be forgotten in the turmoil of the coming conflict.
The farmer’s family was waiting, flushed and overwhelmed at meeting the legendary general. They stared questioningly at Aidan, but he ducked his head and looked away nervously, uncertain how to handle their interest. Torin simply introduced him as his companion, and Aidan was fine with the anonymity. If these people knew of his past and what he had been raised for, they would scorn him. Better that he blend into the background then face certain hostility.
Torin changed into the clothing the family provided, obviously pleased to be rid of the hated uniform.
Aidan was glad in his own right, for every time he glanced at the stolen clothing, he remembered bl
ank, dead eyes—and the fact that he himself had killed a guard, a man who had, personally, done nothing to Aidan except be there at the wrong time.
He argued mentally, they had held him there, against his will. He had to believe that what he had done was right, in some fashion he did not yet understand. His thoughts shied away from the memories and back to the present.
They were ushered to a large farm wagon filled with fresh hay. The farmer, Nyton, showed them where they had laid a soft pallet on the bottom of the wagon, with wooden boxes edging it, and then prepared a large canvas tarpaulin to lay over it to keep the hay from pressing upon them. Aidan scrambled up into the wagon gracelessly, then hesitantly sat upon the pallet, watching as Torin thanked each member of the family, smiling and shaking hands.
He joined Aidan in the wagon. Nyton passed them two large jugs of water and a large basket of wrapped foodstuffs, then gestured for them to lie down. The tarp blacked out the light, and Aidan felt Torin wrap an arm around his waist, drawing him close so they lay spooned about each other, Aidan to the front.
There was the rustle of hay above them, and weight began to press down upon the boxes and then finally on them.
Aidan felt his breath begin to speed up with impending panic at the dark closeness, but he felt a soothing touch upon his arm.
“Take this,” Torin whispered, and one of the jugs, cold and damp, slid over his side, so that he could grasp it.
His attention was successfully diverted, and he pulled the stopper and tilted the jug to his lips, his thirst overwhelming. He almost choked, eagerness overcoming good sense, and only Torin’s admonishment slowed him down.
When at last his thirst was quenched, he carefully stoppered the jug back up and set it before him, since he could hear Torin drinking from the other.
